Page 20 of Sinful Temptations

I shoved my hands over my ears, desperate to block out the sound I’d heard from my parents’ bedroom a hundred times over. But at least my mother and father had known of the other’s infidelities. Pierre’s wife was probably clueless.

The rage shooting through me skyrocketed.

I stood, inhaled a deep, bracing breath, and with my jaw clamped and my brain spinning, I yanked open the door. “You fucking bastard!”

I strode straight at him, my boobs slamming side to side.

He pulled out of his wife, and with blind determination I ignored his cock and her private parts.

I slapped him. Hard. Right across his handsome fucking face. I turned to the woman whose wild eyes shot from me to her husband. “He’s a cheating rotten bastard. I’m so sorry.”

“Who are you?” He spoke in English. His eyes all wide and darting. “Je ne sais pas qui elle est,” he said pleadingly in French to his wife.

Asshole!He was pretending he didn’t know who I was.

“Fuck you, Pierre.” I slapped him again and turned to his wife who was clutching the bedcover over herself. “I’m sorry. He told me he was divorced four times. I didn’t know he was married.” I had no idea if she understood English. But when her face morphed from shock to fury, I got my answer.

Snatching up the first piece of clothing I could get my hands on, I scrambled down the stairs, hardly able to breathe. Tears flooded my eyes, blurred my vision. My throat constricted. My heart ached. My brain cried.

I was inhuman.

Nothing would make me whole again.

Pierre’s wife blasted him with shrill rage. Some of it I interpreted, likefucking bastard. Some I didn’t.

Before I reached his front door, I heard a slap. Judging by the sound, it would’ve hurt. Pierre deserved a thousand times worse.

I slinked into the street wearing just my sneakers. Both times I’d seen this quaint little street, it’d enchanted me with its pretty, discreet lighting.

Now it was like every single light was on, bathing me in a million watts of illumination.

The stark reality of my situation hit me like a million bullets.

Above me, people sat on their balconies, overlooking the cobblestone laneway, sipping wine. I unraveled the shirt I’d snatched from the floor and died all over again.

It was his apron.

Faarrrrkkk.

I pulled it on, and with my tits bouncing to my chest and my ass out on full display, I sprinted up the street, desperate to get away from the fucking asshole.

Ahead of me was the main street and lucky me, it was bumper to bumper with traffic. My mind screamed at me to stop and make a plan. It took my feet twenty yards to obey.

I ducked into an alcove and with my bare ass pressed up against someone’s wooden door, I panted for air.

Think, Daisy.

I glanced down and gasped. My tits had wobbled out of the apron and the white fabric was wedged between them like it was a G-string. Tears stung my eyes as I shoved my boobs back in.

When I looked up, a man in a business suit was walking by. He nodded.

I waved. Everything normal here.

Not!

The second he was out of sight, another appeared. He waved too.

Everyone was so friendly.

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